That's Life
by oldshowaddict2015
Summary: OCxOC, OCxGeorge Fiona has had a hard life. She had to be taken in by her best friend's family after hers mistreated her, and to make matters worse she's crazy about her best friend, who seems to be crazy about someone else. This will go with the first eight seasons of Grey's, and my OC will have children with a main character. First Grey's fic. No flames! R&R please!
1. Fiona

Chapter One

When I was growing up, my normal wasn't everyone's normal. It was a hectic normal. My father was a regular drunk, and in my early years I somewhat remember my mother being there, but it's in bits and pieces. I remember she had long blonde hair and brown eyes. She had this old sweater—it was some shade of light blue, I think it was powder blue—and she always wore bell bottoms. That's all I can remember.

I remember my father quite well, and I wish I didn't. I had memories of him stumbling around, drunk, and of him screaming and yelling quite often—and about ninety-nine percent of the time, it was at my mother before she left. After she left, it was at me.

I was never sure why she didn't take me, and as I got older I never understood why she never contacted me.

The only thing I was sure of was that my best friend would never leave my side. We met when we were in diapers and we remained extremely close as we grew up. We had at least one class together in high school—our senior year we actually had four, and lunch, which was an odd twist of luck.

My first memory of my best friend was when we were probably three or four years old. I was dangling from a tree limb and he was sitting in the tree all wide eyed and scared, staring at me. Our daycare teacher was under the branch I was on, her arms up to catch me if I fell. And fell I did. Thankfully when I did fall, she caught me, looking over at my best friend, still sitting motionless in the tree.

"_It's okay, George, I've got her," _I remember her saying. George nodded, and she then asked if he could get down and out of the tree, or if he needed help. George, shaken up, needed help and she too helped him out of the tree.

George O'Malley was certainly a character, in a very good way. He always knew how to make me laugh, even when I was in the worst of moods, and put my needs ahead of his when it came down to it with certain situations.

Regarding my father, George never liked him. Not even when we were kids. When we were a bit older, possibly fourth or fifth grade, I came to school with a black eye. We were in the gym before school started, and I kept my hair over my face. George was the first to notice, of course.

"_Why's your hair in front of your face?" he asked. I shrugged._

"_Because."_

"_Because why?"_

"_Because." I snapped. George leaned forward, brushing my hair our of my face. I jerked back but he had already seen it. His big eyes seemed to get bigger when he saw it._

"_Do you want me to tell Mrs. Smith?"_

"_No!" I said, louder than I wanted. "No," I repeated softer. "I don't wanna get in trouble."_

"_But, Fiona—"_

"_No."_

It just snowballed from there on. When I was fifteen, the beatings got worse. Instead of once or twice if I had severely pissed him off, it was almost every single day. I would remember wearing turtlenecks as it became summer, and again, George was the first to notice.

I remember this vividly. We were waiting outside of our history class, and George had questions.

"_Why are you cold? It's May." He looked confused but very concerned. _

"_Oh, George, you know me. I'm always cold." I shrugged nonchalantly. George cocked an eyebrow._

"_I'm not taking that as an acceptable answer."_

"_Too bad. Take it." I snapped, my tone getting borderline dangerous. He sighed._

"_I know what's going on, but I want you to tell me yourself." George said quietly._

"_What good is telling anyone going to do? He's just going to do it worse next time…"_

"_Fiona…" George stared at me, trying to say the correct thing. "Maybe they could get you out of there, and you could live somewhere where it's safe."_

"_Don't worry about it, okay?" I smiled at him reassuringly. He cocked an eyebrow again._

"_Fiona—"_

"_Can I come over tonight after school?" I cut him off. George sputtered for a moment, not expecting the question to cut him off like that._

"_Uh.. yeah. Yeah, sure." He nodded. "My parents won't mind."_

_I nodded. "Good."_

George's parents adored me, and I adored them. I adored his whole family. They always included me in things—they knew my home life wasn't fantastic and took me under their wing. I was even invited, every Thanksgiving, to go shoot a turkey with George, his father and brothers. George would beg me to go every year, but hunting was never my style. Never was his either, but he had no choice but to go. I just stayed behind and helped his mother with Thanksgiving dinner.

Louise and I had a tight bond. I never had a mother, she didn't have a daughter. It seemed to fit. She never prodded me or asked me questions about my home life—she didn't need to. She had eyes and ears of her own. My father was a sensitive subject for me, and the only person I felt I could confide about that monster in was George.

One night, when I was sixteen, I got a small bag and put a change of clothes and my high tops in it, along with some clean underwear and a bra. Grabbing my bookbag, I snuck out my bedroom window and ran to George's house, which was a good twenty-minute walk from mine. I remember it was raining. I remember, when I got there, knocking on his window for what seemed like forever. When he opened it, he couldn't get his questions out fast enough while I crawled into his room.

"_Can I stay the night?"_

"_Uh, uh…" George sputtered. He was sleeping great, I could tell, with his hair askew and imprints of his sheets and pillowcase on his face and arms. Finally his brain started working. "Yeah." He seemed to fully wake up then, because he grabbed a throw blanket off his bed. "Here, you're wet." He wrapped me up in it, and I started sobbing, burying into him. "Fiona?" I felt George put his arms around me._

"_He did it, George. He finally went there." I whispered. _

"_You mean he—"_

_I nodded quickly, not letting him finish. "Don't tell anyone."_

"_Fiona—"_

"_No. You're not telling anyone." I pulled back, looking at him. "Okay? I'm not being labeled as that girl in school who got…whose father…" I shook my head quickly. "No."_

It stayed our secret until our senior year. I went back home that next night—I didn't want to, and George argued with me about it almost the whole day, until I told him to save it and that we really needed to talk about something else because the subject was getting really boring. So George dropped it. He didn't want to, and he was going to hang on to it as long as he could, but he finally did.

A week later, something else happened. I was at George's house, hanging out in his room. There was a healing bruise on my cheek, something I said I had done to myself. My father threw me into a wall, but I said I fell down the stairs. People at school believed it too, I was pretty clumsy at times. It was a great cover up.

"_You wanna stay the night here so you don't have to go back over there?" George held his Nintendo controller in his hands, looking over at me after he paused the game. I shrugged._

"_I don't know. Maybe. I feel like I've been over here too much."_

"_No," George looked confused. "You actually haven't."_

_I shrugged. He scooted up to where I was on the bed, looking at me with an eyebrow raised. "What?"_

"_If you think it's because Mom and Dad are going to get mad—"_

"_No, no," I shook my head. "No. It's not them that'll get mad."_

_George sat there for a moment, understanding what I meant. "Right…"_

"_Otherwise I'd say yes." _

"_I know."_

_I looked at him. "Can you take me home?"_

"_Yeah. I'll ask to borrow Jerry's car." _

_I nodded, resting my head on his shoulder. George put his arm around my shoulders, holding me. We sat in silence for a moment before I felt him shift on the bed a bit. I looked up at him, confused, and my eyes met his. Those big, blue Bambi eyes. I didn't realize how much I actually loved those eyes until that moment. "George?" I whispered._

"_Yeah?" His voice seemed to crack a bit, and his body language told me how nervous he was. _

"_What're you doing..?"_

"_Uh…" George shook his head. "Nothing, really. Just, uh… thinking." He swallowed hard, gently placing his hand on my bruised cheek, gingerly running his thumb across it. Time seemed to freeze, and my breath hitched a bit. I inched closer to him, and George took this as initiative to do the same, gently capturing my lips with his. We sat there like that for a moment before pulling away. I grinned like a fool, looking down and trying my best to hide my blush. I felt George lightly stroking my cheek and I looked at him again. A grin was plastered on his face and I couldn't help but giggle. _

That was the only good thing to come out of that. We dated for a few months before breaking up and getting back together, a cycle we repeated for quite a while, even after school. We were even off during prom season, and George took some girl—who was a lot cooler than him. Honestly, this was some really cool person who agreed to go with a mathlete, someone who won a blue ribbon for dissecting fetal pig, and the secretary _and _treasurer of the _Dungeons and Dragons _club. George was the ultimate nerd, but it was a quality that I, personally, loved about him.

I ended up going to prom stag, technically, even though George, the girl and I all went together, hanging out on the wall along with all of the other wallflowers. George and I would exchange glances, and I gave him a soft smile as he danced with his date. Boy, did he look dashing. He rented the most expensive tux he could afford and took his father's car. He wanted to make a great impression, and I think he did—and then some. I couldn't get the jealousy out of my head the whole night. I didn't really dance with anyone, but I did drink the punch and chewed on some gum I stashed in my clutch purse.

"_So, hey, um," I heard George beside me as I leaned on the wall. It was near the end of the night, and most of the couples were leaving. "I got this after party to go to. You wanna come with?"_

"_No, I think I'm just gonna… like… hang out at your house and watch movies with your mother if that's cool."_

"_Hey, Mom'll be okay with that. You got a ride? Because I don't want you walking alone back to the house. And I was your ride here, so—"_

"_George, it's cool. I got a ride." I lied. _

"_Oh. Okay." He nodded. "Who?"_

"_I swear, you're like a parent." I teased him._

"_I just want to make sure you're going to be alright, Fiona. I worry about you."_

"_I got a ride from Harry Dean." I lied again. Harry was a mutual friend of ours, so he was my best bet for something George would believe. _

"_Okay then." George nodded, relief flooding his body. "At least you'll be alright." He took my hand in his, and I smiled softly. _

"_I think I will be." I winked at him. _

"_I gotta get going, the party starts at ten." George shifted from foot to foot. _

"_I understand." I nodded._

"_Think I'll see you later tonight?"_

"_Probably." I blushed a bit as George gave me a brief hug, leaving with his date not too long after. _

Turns out, she had George drop her off at some local college, so she could go be with her boyfriend. Not too long George and his date left, I left. The music was dying down, and there weren't many people left. George was my ride there, with his parents having us take pictures before he went to pick his date up and he took pictures with her. I stayed out of those, only because that was George's date. I felt like I was already infringing on his night with one of the coolest girls in school. Harry Dean actually brought his own date, and they had actually left before George and his date, something neither of us knew. Harry got some that night, and actually had a baby with that girl all because of prom night.

They're married now.

I walked back to George's around ten thirty. I could smell the rain coming in, but I thought that it would hit after I got to George's and Louise and I had started the first tape of Titanic. Of course, I was wrong. One loud thunderclap and rain began crashing down about halfway to the O'Malley house. I remember I started cursing, and there was nothing I could really do. I was wearing heels, so I couldn't run, but the rain was cold, so I didn't want my bare feet on the sidewalk.

_A car honked behind me and I turned. George got out of his father's car and he leaned on it, crossing his arms._

"_What happened with Harry?" He raised his eyebrows._

"_Uh…" I shrugged. "Yeah."_

"_Get in here before you get sick." George opened the passenger door for me, and I got in. He got back in as well. _

"_What happened to your date?"_

"_She wanted to see her college boyfriend." George shrugged. "So, Harry."_

"_Yeah." I cleared my throat._

"_There was no ride, was there?"_

"_Nope." I shook my head._

"_Why didn't you come with us?" George started driving. _

"_Because, George, I already felt enough like a third wheel, and she was one of the coolest girls in school. I didn't want to infringe on it more than I already was."_

"_You weren't…" George shook his head. "You weren't infringing."_

_I shrugged. "Well, it was your big night. You know? You're with one of the most popular girls in school. I felt like I might've been stealing that. It's dumb."_

"_No it's not, I get it." _

"_At least you had a date to the prom." I looked out the window. "I didn't even have that."_

_We sat in silence for a moment before George spoke._

"_I'm glad you were there."_

_I looked over at him. I could see a blush creeping on his cheeks. "Yeah?" I asked._

"_Yeah." He nodded. We sat in silence again before he spoke. "You hungry or anything?"_

"_Honestly, yeah."_

"_Taco Bell's open."_

_I nodded. "Taco Bell actually sounds fantastic right now."_

We got back together that night with Titanic playing in the background. Louise, who waited up for us, had fallen asleep right after Rose and Jack had dinner with Rose's mother and everyone else up in first class. All George had to say was "You wanna get back—?" and I answered him quickly.

Yes.

We went smoothly for a while, until the end of May hit. We had argument after argument, over what I can't even remember. The big major argument, something about how I wasn't his first choice to prom so obviously I wasn't high on the priority list, had me leave George and actually go to my house. My father was there, of course, and the minute I walked in I was assaulted with questions. Where the hell had I been this past week? He'd been looking for me, why am I lying about where I've been? And, finally, my father hit me with this.

"_You worthless fucking whore."_

This, and a slap across the face, knocking me onto the ground. I remember I was yanked up by my hair and slapped again, before my father wrapped his hand around my neck. I didn't remember much, except that I know I blacked out. When I came to, my shirt was ripped, and my jeans were tossed unceremoniously on the coffee table. My father was nowhere to be seen, and I couldn't help but start sobbing.

That was it, I figured. It was over for me.

I got dressed, grabbed a small kitchen knife and I went to the park.

I sat away from most people, under the tree that I loved to much. I believed it was maple, or oak. I wasn't sure, but it was vast, seeming to stretch into the heavens. The tree was absolutely beautiful.

A nice place to do it, I figured.

I don't remember how long I was lightly cutting my wrists before I finally slit them deeply, making blood pour down my arms. I remember staring at the sky. I remember someone yelling at me, though at that point I was lightheaded. I remember said person picking me up and putting me in the car. I remember getting to the hospital.

Then I remember nothing.

I awoke later, looking beside me to see George sleeping in the chair next to my bed. A beautiful doctor was outside my room, talking to George's parents—God knows my father wouldn't come. The lady doctor then came in, and I saw relief flow through both Harold and Louise as soon as they saw I was awake. Harold woke up his youngest son, and George bolted to my side, taking my hand in his.

The beautiful lady doctor was wonderful. She fixed my wrists, putting the stitches in expertly. She was so sweet to me, making sure that I was feeling okay. The only downside to any of this was the suicide watch I was on.

When I was released, George's family picked me up and took me to their home.

"_So, uh…" George led me to a room, Jerry's old room actually, and opened the door. "Mom, Dad, and I all agree that you're moving in here."_

"_George—"_

"_Don't argue with me. Seriously, after that day I don't feel comfortable with you being over there at all. Like not even to get a change of clothes. We got the whole room ready for you, and we made it look nice. You're eighteen, so, you know, it's not like Randall can challenge this." George swallowed hard. "I want you to be okay, and I know you'll be okay and stable here. I want you to make me a promise."_

"_What?" I furrowed my eyebrows._

"_That no matter how bad things get, you won't do anything like this again. That you'll talk to me if you feel like you want to kill yourself. Because… because I have a plan for my life, and-and you're my oldest and my lifelong friend. You're my girlfriend. You're going to be apart of it, whether you like it or not. You and I, we're going to live until we're 95 years old, scaring little kids off of the front lawn." At this, I couldn't help but laugh. "We're going to annoy the hell out of each other for the rest of our lives. We can't do that if you… you know… if you die."_

_I nodded. "I get it, George. I promise, I'll try to let life go as you planned." I blushed. George beamed._

Things went better after that. George had a hard time leaving my side, often falling asleep in my room to make sure I was okay and that I wasn't going to do anything drastic. Things went on like this until we graduated from college and George was accepted at the School of Medicine at Oregon Health and Science University.

Childishly, I threw a fit instead of being happy for him. I didn't want him to leave me and told him we might as well break it off since he wanted to go all the way to Oregon, instead of going to University of Washington School of Medicine like I was.

George said I was being ridiculous. I told him just to leave and not talk to me.

I know it hurt him; at the time I wanted it to. I wanted him to feel like how I did—deserted. Left behind like some piece of trash that wasn't worth taking anywhere.

The day he left, however, I kept myself in my room. I was going over my schedule, checking out my classes. I saw George start to get into his father's truck, as Harold—his father—was taking him to the airport. Rain began to fall, and George looked up at my window, his big blue puppy dog eyes looking at me sorrowfully. I bit my lip and stood, hurrying to the front door—knocking Ronny, who was there for a visit before George left, down completely by accident. I hurried out the front door as George held the passenger door truck open, about to get in. The rain was falling harder, and I figured it safe to cry here since no one could tell. I heard Harold say something to his youngest son, with it being followed by him saying it was okay and they had time. George shut the door and I remembered holding back a sob as he hurried to me. He embraced me tightly, and I clung to him, smelling that aftershave he liked using so much. I forgot the name of it, but I remembered the smell. It was so perfectly George.

"_You'll be okay?" he whispered to me. I nodded._

"_Yeah, George, I'll be okay." I whispered back, sniffling._

"_You won't attempt anything stupid?"_

"_No."_

"_Promise?"_

"_Promise."_

_He pulled away from me, though still keeping me in his arms. I looked at him, biting my lip. George kissed me gently, cupping my cheek. I kissed him back, and it felt as if he pulled away far too soon, and he started towards the truck again. I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed mine in return before getting in._

"_Don't worry!" I heard Harold yell at me from the truck, a reassuring grin on his face. "Georgie will be back before you know it!"_

_I nodded as George shut the door to the truck, the two of us still looking at each other. I shot him the peace sign, and George did the same as Harold drove off. _

George came back every year for Thanksgiving, Christmas, Spring Break, and Summer Break, and things continued like he never left when he was here. He even helped me with my winter finals during his Thanksgiving break, the tutoring session lasting for a while before turning into a make out session.

The distance seemed to do great things for us, as we hardly fought as much. George called once a week, speaking to his mother and father first, then his brothers if they were there—those weren't long, as his older brothers always gave him hell—and then me. George called it saving the best for last, and I'm sure those long-distance calls must've cost Harold and Louise a fortune, but neither of them complained about it. At least not to me.

And then it happened.

George and I were almost completely through with medical school, and we were going over my last winter finals. We were both graduating and becoming interns after the spring semester, George graduating first. The whole family was planning a trip to Oregon, afterwards with George coming home, and then a week later I would graduate. Spring was going to be a busy time, but George and I couldn't have been more excited.

We finished the tutoring session, moving on to the step that always followed. Except this time, it went further than we both thought it would. I know I wasn't his first, after all George is a _guy_, and plus his first was during our first year of college—we were broken up at the time—when he and some chick were drunk after some party I didn't attend because I was sick. George had a terrible hangover the next day, and I had to listen to him puking his guts out the next morning—which didn't help my case—and when he was through hogging the toilet he'd come into my room. It was there where he spilled the beans, and I simply nodded, saying nothing more than "Alrighty then."

George, however, was my first. It was a special moment after everything, the two of us just laying there and looking at each other. We said nothing, but we didn't need to say anything. We were both happy with how this turned out.

That following year, George and I began our internship at Seattle Grace, and our lives changed drastically.


	2. Interns: Day One

Chapter Two

I woke up next to George the morning we were to go to Seattle Grace, and I quickly shot up out of bed, making him groan next to me. I looked at the clock before smacking him to wake him up.

"Ow! What?"

"We fell asleep together last night, get up." I grabbed my clothes off of his bedroom floor.

"What time is it?" George groggily looked at the clock. "We got time."

"I don't." I put my shirt on, my underwear following soon after.

"You know, we are adults." I looked over at George as he said this. He had flopped back onto the pillow. "It's not like this would be out of the ordinary given our history."

"Since when are you one to talk like that?" I put my pajama pants on.

"Since you woke me up at seven in the morning."

"We have our first shift at nine," I put my hands on my hips. "Besides, we aren't dating or anything. We're adults fulfilling adult needs. Friends with benefits." I shrugged. "I just don't want to be caught in your house."

"Yeah, I don't either," George sat up slowly, running his hands over his face to wake himself up.

"I'll meet you downstairs? I'm going to get some coffee."

"Yeah, I'll be there."

"Cool."  
I walked to my room first, grabbing my blue robe and putting it on before going downstairs just in case I wasn't the only one awake. But no one in the kitchen answered my question.

It was easy to assume Louise and Harold would be waking up at any time, though. We were the babies in the house, and here we were embarking on the next big adventure. I've never met people who were more supportive.

I started on the coffee as George stumbled in, stopping as he yawned. I looked over at him, laughing.

"What?"

"Nice hair."

"Thanks. Took all night to get it like this, it might be a permanent look." He joked, getting some coffee cups down.

"Drink all you can get, we're going to need it." I said as the coffee finished brewing.

"I know." He nodded. "Trust me, I'm not looking forward to a 48 hour shift,"

"Well, that's the beauty of being a surgical intern." I leaned on the counter. "We get shitty shifts."

"Tell me about it."

*/*/*/*/*/*/*

"Here, I finished burning this last night," George handed me a CD as we got in my car. We had just left Harold and Louise in the kitchen, both of them talking about us being surgeons like we were the next Wonder Woman and Superman in the world. I think it embarrassed George because he would just nervously laugh whenever something like that was brought up.

I took the CD. "Fiona and George Mix?" I looked at him.

"Just put it in, don't ask questions." George nudged me. "It's a surprise." I saw a slight smile on his face. I smiled back, putting the CD in. _Basket Case _by Green Day began to play, and I beamed.

"George, you didn't have to make a CD for us."

George shrugged. "I know. But I'm honestly tired of the same old stuff we have in this car. So I got some of my favorite songs and some of your favorite songs and I put them on a CD. _Smells Like Teen Spirit _is on there somewhere."

"You are awesome." I grinned, driving. I saw George blush a bit, looking out the window as I drove.

The ride to the hospital was silent, in a way, except for when we sang songs we both liked. It was interesting, the ride. Usually George and I have a lot to say to each other, but today it was like we didn't have to. Our lives seemed to be in a perfect balance at this moment. We weren't lovers, but we did things together. For now, that was enough for me.

At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*

"Each of you comes here today hopeful, wanting in on the game," as the man in front of us, Chief Webber, spoke, a young blonde woman snuck in behind us. The look on her face showed us that she knew she was late and that she was, indeed, slightly embarrassed about it. "A month ago, you were in med school being taught by doctors. Today," Chief Webber opened one of the doors to one of the many operating rooms. "_You _are the doctors."

We walked in and I tugged on George's arm excitedly as he looked around almost in awe. I say in awe because we were in a real operating room. It wasn't just something we were learning about or anything like that. One day, possibly in this very room, each and every one of us could very easily perform a surgery. George put an arm around me for a moment, giving me a brief side hug to calm me down as I was about to ready to start bouncing off the walls, I was so excited.

"The seven years you spend here as a surgical resident will be the best and worst of your life. You will be pushed to the breaking point. Look around you. Say hello to your competition." As the chief said this, a Korean woman looked our way, looking us over before taking her gaze somewhere else. "Eight of you will switch to an easier specialty. Five of you will crack under the pressure. Two of you will be asked to leave. This is your starting line. This is your arena. How well you play… that's up to you."

As Chief Webber finished up his speech, the woman who came in late looked uneasy. I couldn't blame her. I felt about the same at this moment. I glanced at George, who looked as if he wanted to go home. Inside myself, the excitement I had building up was beginning to give away to anxiety after the speech.

I just hoped I wouldn't be one of the ones that cracked.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Inside of our locker room, we interns began to get ready for the day. Changing into our scrubs and crisp, new doctor's jackets.

"Think we'll be together?" I asked George as he put his things in his locker.

"I dunno, maybe." He shrugged.

"I sure hope so."

"Why, nervous?" He smirked at me.

"Maybe." I swallowed hard.

"It'll be okay," he took my hand, squeezing it for reassurance. I smiled softly.

"Okay," a doctor, who had come in, looked at his clipboard in his hand. "Martin, Robinson, Bond, Hawkins." He called the names, and the surgical interns who were called walked out with him.

"Where do you see who you're assigned to?" I asked George, who was putting on his shoes.

"Uh, over there on the board." George nodded his head to it.

"Oh." I walked over to it, looking for my name. It took a few minutes as there were a few surgical residents and interns here, but I finally found it.

Oh boy.

Walking back to George, I plopped on the bench next to him as he stood.

"What? You look like you saw a ghost or something." He joked.

"I got the Nazi." I looked at him.

"Yeah? Me too." He smiled.

"Great. We can suffer together."

"Only six women out of twenty." I heard Miss Fashionably Late say.

"Yeah. I hear one of them's a model." The Korean woman answered her. "Seriously, that's gonna help with the respect thing?"

"You're Cristina, right?" Fashionably Late stood as a few more names were called off.

"Which resident are you assigned to?" Cristina fixed her hair. "I got Bailey."

"The Nazi? Me too." Fashionably Late answered, which made George look their way.

"You got the Nazi? So did we." George motioned to me as I stood, grabbing my stethoscope. "At least we'll be tortured together, right?" He shut his locker, grabbing his. "I'm George O'Malley." He introduced himself. "Uh, this is my best friend, Fiona Dunaway."

"Hey," I smiled a bit. Cristina kept looking at me.

"Are you the model?" she asked. I shook my head.

"No."

George started stumbling over his words as he started talking to Fashionably Late. "Uh, we met at the, uh, at the mixer. You had on a black dress with a slit up the side, strappy sandals, and…" I nudged him in the side as Fashionably Late tried not to laugh. I saw George die a little on the inside. "Now you think I'm gay. Uh, no, I'm not gay," he stammered as Cristina walked away. "It's—It's just that you were, you were very unforgettable."

Fashionably late smiled at him as our names were called.

"O'Malley, Yang, Grey, Dunaway, Stevens."

"And I'm totally forgettable." George muttered as I started giggling. "Shut up, it's not funny."

"Yeah it is." I patted him on the back. "At least you tried."

"Bailey?" I heard Cristina ask.

"End of the hall."

The four of us began to walk forward and ahead of us was a short African American woman writing things down on her clipboard. She looked stern but nothing that I hadn't dealt with before.

"That's the Nazi?"

"I thought the Nazi would be a guy." George sounded confused. I shrugged.

"Apparently not." I said quietly.

"Yeah, apparently."

"I thought the Nazi would be a Nazi." Fashionably Late spoke quietly.

"Maybe it's professional jealousy." A blonde woman began to walk past. "Maybe she's brilliant and they call her a Nazi because they're jealous. Maybe she's nice."

"Let me guess—you're the model." Cristina deadpanned. The blonde woman glared back at her. Yes, she was indeed the model. The Model then walked up to the Nazi, extending her hand.

"Hi, I'm Isobel Stevens, but everyone calls me "Izzie"."

The Nazi looked her up and down before speaking to us all.

"I have five rules. Memorize them." She said, her tone of authority making her seem bigger than she was. "Rule Number One—Don't Bother Sucking Up. I already hate you. That's not gonna change." As the Nazi said this, George and I exchanged glances with George doing his best to look confident. I thought he looked a bit constipated, myself, but I couldn't tell him that. After all, he pretty much got snubbed by a beautiful woman. "Trauma protocol, phone list, pagers—nurses will page you. You will answer every page at a run—" the Nazi began walking off, and the five of us scrambled to get a pager and to follow behind as to not miss anything she was saying. "A run—" she looked back at us as we tried to hurry up to her. As she looked back, she held up to fingers. "That's rule number two." She turned back around. Next to me, I saw George scribbling away in a pocket notebook. They were the rules that we were being told at this current moment.

"Think I can copy?" I whispered.

"Yeah, I'll let you once she's through."

"Cool."

"Your first shift starts now and lasts 48 hours You're interns, grunts, nobodies, bottom of the surgical food chain. You run labs, write orders, work every second night until you drop and _don't complain_." Not too long after she said this, Dr. Bailey opened a room that had bunkbeds inside. "On-call rooms—attendings hog them. Sleep when you can, where you can. Which brings me to rule number three. If I'm sleeping, don't wake me unless your patient is actually dying. Rule number four—the dying patient better not be dead when I get there. Not only will you have killed someone, you would have woke me for no good reason. We clear?"

I nodded my head quickly, muttering "Yes ma'am," before placing my hands together in front of me. However, Fashionably Late, who just happened to be on the other side of George—which made me get a good view of him blushing—raised her hand.

"Yes?" The Nazi acknowledged her, though she seemed as if she was bored.

"You said five rules, that was only four." Fashionably Late pointed out. After she said this, the Nazi's pager beeped. She looked at it as she spoke to us.

"Rule number five—when I move, you move." The Nazi then began to run down the hallway. "Get out of my way!" she yelled as the rest of ran after her.

It was safe to assume, though while she had the reputation of being a hard-ass, I liked Dr. Bailey from the start.

We hurried to the roof, where a helicopter was flying to meet us. It was louder than I expected, and my hair swung above me almost like a cyclone which annoyed me. Dr. Bailey was the first to approach the helicopter.

"What do we got?" she asked.

"Katie Bryce, 15 year old female, new onset seizures." A man answered as we helped get the stretcher off the helicopter. Katie Bryce was said to be fifteen, but looked like she was older. She had almost platinum blonde hair which I wasn't sure was real or not. Most blonde hair I saw that was natural, usually either medium or light blonde, like Izzie or the other girl who's name I hadn't gotten yet. I had more of a light strawberry blonde myself, but it was natural. I never dyed it a day in my life. Never wanted to, really. This girl looked like she dyed hers regularly. "Intermittent for the past week." As we unloaded her, a mask covered her face as she was seizing. "I.V lost en route. Started grand mal seizing as we descended."

We got Katie inside and on a bed, and immediately Dr. Bailey went into teaching and doctor mode.

"Alright, get her on her side." She told us, and Fashionably Late did so. "Izzie, 10 milligrams diazepam I.M." As Izzie started to do so, Dr. Bailey spoke again though it wasn't to her. "No, no. The white lead is on the right. "Righty, whitey—smoke over fire. A large-bore I.V. Don't let the blood hemolyze. Let's go!"

Once she got what she needed, Katie's seizure stopped, and her body relaxed.

"What do we have? A wet fish on dry land?" A man's voice spoke up. I looked over, and a tall bespectacled African American man walked in, looking at the scene around him.

"Absolutely, Dr. Burke." Dr. Bailey answered his question, her hands on her hips. George and I glanced at one another and George shrugged in response to our unspoken question of who this new guy was.

"Dr. Bailey, let's shotgun her."

"That means every test in the book." Dr. Bailey explained to us. "C.T, CBC, Chem-7, tox screen. Cristina, you're on labs." She handed Cristina a clipboard. "George, Fiona, I heard you two work well together—patient work-ups. Meredith," she looked at Fashionably Late, who looked back at her. Ah, now she has a name. "Get Katie for a C.T. She's your responsibility now." With this, the Nazi began to leave.

"Wait, what about me?" Izzie asked. Dr. Bailey stopped and looked at her.

"Honey, you get to do rectal exams."

I think after this I saw Izzie die a little inside.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*

"Okay, so, I'll take this guy if you take that one?" George handed me a clipboard. I shrugged.

"Sure."

"Cool."

I nudged him. "So. Meredith."

"Yeah." George looked at me, stopping in his tracks. I saw the blush on his cheeks again. "What about her?"

"You got a crush." I smirked.

"I do not."

"Do too."

"Says who?"

"No one, I can see it written all over that cute little face of yours."

"Seems like I'm not the only one with a crush." George smirked at me.

"George quit flattering yourself, okay?"

George put a hand over his heart. "Okay, ow. So, all those years in high school and college and med school meant nothing to you?" he feigned being hurt. "Wow, Fiona."

"Oh, stop it." I shoved his arm, making him laugh. "You broke up with me this time, you jerk. I'll meet you after the work ups."

"Okay."

I started walking away but turned back and looked at him. "We could try one of the on-call rooms maybe? Or during lunch?"

"I think on-call would be our best bet."

I winked. "Got it."

*/*/*/*/*/*/*

"Okay, Mr. Chambers, your surgery is going to be tomorrow morning with Dr. Shepherd. I hear he's the best neurosurgeon here."

"Well, I certainly hope so." The older gentleman in the bed cleared his throat as his wife shot me a kind smile.

"We've been dealing with this brain tumor for a while now, it's just… no one's done anything about it."

I nodded. "I understand,"

"We didn't know it was a tumor until a couple of weeks ago. The hospital we went to didn't catch it."

"That's the tricky thing about tumors," I explained. "Sometimes, from what I understand, they can grow quickly." I nodded.

"From what you understand?" The older gentleman raised an eyebrow at me.

"Well, I'm a surgical intern. This is my first day here," I explained.

"Oh, well that's just great," the man muttered quickly as his wife smacked his shoulder gently.

"Congratulations." She smiled at me.

"Thank you." I smiled softly as a man walked into the room. He was beautiful, too, which is something you usually can't say about men. But he was. His hair was thick, combed back and professional. His eyes could look at any woman, and I could bet she would melt in a heartbeat.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Shepherd." The man extended a hand to the woman and then to her husband.

"Doctor," the wife spoke up. "I'm Jess Chambers, John's wife."

I swallowed hard as the two began to talk about the surgery, glancing at John, who was looking at me under his criticizing gaze.

"She's not performing at all during the surgery, is she?" He snapped.

"No, I will be." Dr. Shepherd clarified. "See, she's a surgical intern. Interns typically don't perform a surgery in the first couple of days. She's just getting her sea legs."

"Good. I don't think I could trust my life in the hands of a kid."

I cleared my throat. "I'm not a kid; I'm 26." I cleared my throat. "Dr. Shepherd is right, I won't be involved in the surgery." I said it as politely as I could, and I could see Dr. Shepherd nodding his head slightly as he listened to me. I could tell he was proud of the way I handled myself. "Excuse me, sir, but I'll be leaving now, and I'll be checking on you in a bit. I have to make my rounds." I said, an air of confidence surrounding me. I smiled. "It was lovely meeting you both, and I'll be back before you know it," I walked to Dr. Shepherd, extending my hand. "Dr. Fiona Dunaway, sir."

"Dr. Derek Shepherd." Dr. Shepherd smiled as we shook hands. I left soon after.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*

"Fiona!" I heard my name from one of the semi-open doors. I looked over and saw George leaning out ever so slightly, waving me over to him. I hurried over to him, shutting the door behind me.

"How much time do you have?"

"Uh…" George checked his watch. "Like ten minutes."

"That works," I pulled him close to me, kissing him deeply.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*

After our rendezvous, George and I went our separate ways to make it seem as if we didn't enter the cafeteria together.

"Do you think anyone's going to know?" He whispered to me once we met up in line.

"Not if we don't let them know." I shook my head. "If we stay stocked up on condoms, we'll be set." I cleared my throat. "I have to get more of my birth control, though, I'm running low. Remind me later."

"Okay." George nodded as we started to get the food on our trays. "So, what's your patient like?"

"Oh, he's a real ass with a brain tumor." I rolled my eyes. "Not his biggest fan. Completely tried to embarrass me in front of Dr. Shepherd. Calling me out for being an intern and what not. It was crazy. What about yours?"

"He was nice. He's having heart surgery tomorrow with Dr. Burke, you know that guy we saw come in with Katie?"

"Oh, hey, yeah." I nodded.

"Yeah. He's got a wife and four kids."

"Aw," I smiled a bit. "That's nice. At least you got someone enjoyable."

"Sorry about that," George finished getting his lunch and I did the same as we walked to our table. There already was Cristina, who seemed okay with sitting alone and tried to hide the disappointment on her face when we walked over. Not that she was alone, anyway, as a few other interns were sitting there. But us she knew she would probably have to talk to. Izzie was sitting there as well, along with a few other doctors, and the model was grimacing at her lunch like it was some kind of disgusting monster.

"This shift is a marathon, it's not a sprint." George told her. "Eat."

"I can't," Izzie shook her head.

"You should eat something,"

Izzie sighed. "You try eating after performing 17 rectal exams. The Nazi hates me."

"The Nazi's a resident. I have attendings hating me."

"Who?" I asked.

"Burke." George grumbled. Cristina then hopped into the conversation.

"You know Meredith is inbred?" she asked.

"Like it's uncommon around here to be a doctors' parents—"

"No, royally inbred—her mother is Ellis Grey."

"_Shut up_, the Ellis Grey?" Izzie's eyes widened. I raised my eyebrows.

"That's why she looked a little familiar." I nodded. I remembered seeing a picture of Ellis Grey in my textbook. Meredith was her spitting image, I thought it was some coincidence. Apparently not.

"Who's Ellis Grey?" George asked. Cristina stared at him as Izzie laughed.

"The Grey Method? Where'd you go to med school—Mexico?"

"She was one of the first big chick surgeons," Izzie began to explain.

"She's a living legend. Yeah, she won the Harper Avery twice."

"I've read her books. They're really interesting if you would like to actually borrow them and read them," I nudged George.

"So I didn't know _one _thing." George defended himself.

"Talk about parental pressure." Izzie shook her head.

"God, I would kill to have Ellis Grey as a mother." Cristina rested her head on her hand. Hell, I'd kill to know _my _mother. "I'd kill to _be _Ellis Grey. All I need is one good case."

George, who was biting into his pickle, mumbled something, along the lines of telling Cristina to shut up.

Because, Miss Fashionably Late herself, Meredith Grey, had joined us at the lunch table. I liked Meredith, really, for the little amount of time we had to talk. She seemed nice.

"Katie Bryce is a pain in the ass." She began to rant.

Oh. Maybe not so nice. Meredith continued her rant.

"If I hadn't taken the Hippocratic Oath, I'd Kevorkian her with my bare hands." She crossed her arms. The rest of us just sat there and stared at her. "What?"

"Damn, Meredith, angry much?" I joked, giggling to myself. In response to this, I felt George nudge me with his knee.

"You have no idea." Meredith shook her head. Before anyone else could say anything, Dr. Burke had made his way over.

"Good afternoon, interns." He greeted us. "It's posted, but I thought I'd share the good news personally." Dr. Burke placed his hands on his hips, standing next to George, who was quickly wiping his mouth. "As you know, the honor of performing the first surgery is reserved for the intern that shows the most promise. As I'm running the O.R today, I get to make that choice." In response, we all sat up straight, hoping to hear one of our names called as the lucky one. Burke shifted his gaze over to where George and I were sitting, and then placed a hand on George's back. "George O'Malley."

"Me?" George stared at him, dumbfounded.

"You'll scrub in for an appendectomy this afternoon. Congratulations. Enjoy it."

Everyone got immediately jealous as George sat there, I believe a mix of both amazed and surprised that he was chosen.

"Did he say me?"


End file.
